


How Much Do You Need

by thebookishdark



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookishdark/pseuds/thebookishdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Hey. Check out what I made,” Scott rolls up his sleeve and there’s a small bracelet that looks extremely similar to the belt on his Ant-man uniform. “It’s made of the same material as the suit so it won’t break if I grow in it, but it works more like the particle gun. Cool, right?”</em> </p>
<p>  <em>“That was fast.”</em></p>
<p>  <em>Scott shrugs. “I had an excellent motivator.”</em></p>
<p> <br/>Clint asks Scott a hypothetical question that's not so hypothetical. It might be a sex thing. Okay, it's a sex thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Much Do You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as in the same nebulous almost-canon universe as [Burn The Lot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5001154), taking place after all those events. Although it is designed as a stand-alone fic (which is heavily based off of the first time we see them interact in One Little Thing)  
> i would also like to state that i am probably wayyy 2 ace to be writing this fic, laughs, it is my first unassisted smut, so bear with me.

“So…” Clint’s lying on a couch in Avengers Tower while Scott fiddles with his helmet at a nearby table. “How much of your suit do you need on to maintain a certain size?”

Scott hums for a second, twisting a tiny screw, before answering. “Well, I guess it depends on what size, how long I want to stay that size, and how much physical exertion I’ll be doing while that size. But I’ve never really _had_ to change my size while not in the suit.” He continues tinkering with the helmet until Clint cuts into the silence again.

“Okay, hypothetically, what about maybe half a foot taller for an hour while doing a full exercise regimen?”

“Well—oh wait hold on,” Scott tightens another screw. “Done! Okay, what _exactly_ are you thinking about because this sounds more than hypothetical.” He sets the helmet on the table, walks over to the couch Clint’s reclining on, and sits on the arm rest.

Clint nudges him with his foot, “Well, I _might_ want to try something.”

Scott grabs Clint’s foot and squeezes it before putting it back on the couch, rolling his eyes. “Is it a sex something?”

Clint smirks, “It might be.”

Scott hums again, “I’ll rig something up.”

 

Hours later, Clint is touching up his equipment in his room when there’s a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” He calls absently, restringing his bow. The door slides open and he turns around, not really expecting Scott to be walking into his room wearing civilian clothes and a grin. The door closes behind him and Clint sets down his bow.

“Hey.” Clint smiles and meets Scott halfway in the room. He seems excited about something.

“Hey. Check out what I made,” Scott rolls up his sleeve and there’s a small bracelet that looks extremely similar to the belt on his Ant-man uniform. “It’s made of the same material as the suit so it won’t break if I grow in it, but it works more like the particle gun. Cool, right?”

“That was fast.”

Scott shrugs. “I had an excellent motivator.”

“It was four hours.”

“All the tech was already there I just had to put it together; and, like I said, excellent motivator.”

“Well,” Clint drags the word out, stepping into Scott’s space. “Let’s see if it works, huh?”

Scott wraps his arms around Clint’s neck and brushes his lips teasingly against Clint’s as he speaks. “I’d hate to rip these clothes, so if you help me out of these we can test it out.”

_Two can play at that game,_ Clint thinks, chastely kissing Scott’s lips before kissing his way across his jaw, getting progressively more drawn-out and teasing as he goes. He eventually makes it to Scott’s ear, and he runs his hands down Scott’s back to hook his thumbs in the back of his jeans before lowering his voice and speaking directly into Scott’s ear. “I’d love to.”

“Then get to it,” Scott mumbles before dragging Clint’s head away from his ear and kissing him soundly so he could have the last word. Clint tries, valiantly, to get another quip in but it turns into an unintelligible mess when Scott lightly bites his lip. Clint’s deft fingers make quick work of Scott’s shirt buttons. Scott reluctantly lets go of Clint’s neck, where he was messing with his hair, to allow Clint to push the shirt from his shoulders and remove his arms from the sleeves.

Clint skims his hands down Scott’s sides and breaks away from the kiss to start a hickey on Scott’s shoulder. He undoes the button of Scott’s jeans and scrapes his teeth across the bruise forming on Scott’s skin.

Clint hums into Scott’s neck when he pushes down Scott’s jeans. “Shoulda known; no shoes, no underwear—you woulda walked over here naked if we had the tower to ourselves, huh?”

Scott laughs. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, me knocking on your door wearing nothing at all.”

Clint smiles for a second, rubbing his thumbs across Scott’s hipbones. “Yeah, I would.”

“Come on,” Scott urges, tugging on Clint’s waistband. Clint takes half a step back and peels himself out of his uniform.  
“Better?” Clint starts to move back into Scott’s space but Scott holds out a hand, stopping him.

“Hold on, I’m gonna, uh,” Scott gestures at the bracelet on his wrist.

“By all means.”

Scott presses the button and immediately grows a foot taller. “This good?”

Clint gives Scott a once-over. “Yeah. Yeah that really—yeah... _God_. Get down here and kiss me.”

“I can do you one better.” Scott steps into Clint’s space, stoops over, hooks his hands around Clint’s thighs, and hoists him up.

Clint wraps his legs around Scott’s waist and holds on. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” he mutters before burying his hands in Scott’s hair and kissing him.

Scott maneuvers his way towards the bed and manages not to trip on any of the items randomly strewn across the floor, which is a feat in itself. He gets a knee on the bed before lowering Clint onto the mattress and following him when he pulls himself unceremoniously more towards the center of the bed.

Scott hovers over Clint uncertainly for a second before carefully lowering himself onto his elbows, not putting all of his weight on the body beneath him. After kissing him once more, slowly, Scott pulls back a bit. “What did you have in mind?”

“Want you to fuck me,” comes the rough reply before Clint wraps a leg around Scott’s hips and tugs him down, groaning at the friction and added pressure. “Want you to hold me down,” Clint adds and punctuates with a roll of his hips. “You’re not gonna _crush me_ , come on.”

Scott kisses Clint again, then, rolling his hips slowly. After a minute he pulls away, and when Clint opens his mouth to complain, Scott just smirks and grabs Clint’s hands from where they were loosely wrapped around his shoulders, pushing them above Clint’s head and holding onto his wrists with one hand.

He leans back down, keeping a grip on Clint’s wrists and asks softly “Okay?”

Clint’s responding “Yeah” is breathless as he tests Scott’s grip. It’s tight; a good tight. He lifts up, trying to reach Scott’s lips, but Scott just ducks away and kisses as far down Clint’s chest as he can, slowly making his way back up Clint’s throat and finally kissing him languidly. Clint nips at his lip in a not-so-subtle sign to pick up the pace.

Scott pulls away and smirks, starting to move his hips in the same slow, languid pace. Clint lifts up in an attempt to recapture Scott’s lips and coax him into going faster but with his arms pinned above his head he doesn’t have the reach. He groans and flops back down onto the mattress.

“You’re killing me here, Lang, come on.”

Scott rolls his eyes and with one more squeeze to Clint’s wrists, sits up. Clint opens his mouth to complain again when Scott just lifts an eyebrow and asks “Lube?”

Clint twists to dig between the mattress and the wall and tosses Scott a small bottle. Scott catches it with practiced ease. He pops the cap and coats his fingers, scooting off of Clint’s lap as he tosses the bottle to a corner of the bed for later.

“How do you want me?” Clint asks flirtatiously, stretching out and putting his hands back above his head, mirroring his earlier position.

“Honestly? However I can get you—but for now, like this but—“ Scott grabs Clint’s ankle and places it over his shoulder and nudges the other leg a little wider, “there. That okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint shifts a bit, settling in and relaxing. Scott leans over and starts kissing Clint, rubbing a finger teasingly on the rim of his asshole before gently working it inside.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Clint moans.

Scott pauses with concern. “Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Clint nudges Scott with his heel to keep moving. “Forgot your fingers got bigger—it’s good.”

“Okay.” Scott kisses the corner of Clint’s mouth, moving down lower and lower as he continues working a finger in and out, crooking and twisting until Clint’s essentially kicking him to stop his teasing. Scott smirks up at Clint where he’s hovering over his erection and takes a lick. Clint curses and thrusts uselessly into the air; Scott takes it as a sign. He sucks the tip of Clint’s dick into his mouth and adds another finger at the same time.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint moans. “That’s unfair.”

Scott pulls his head up but doesn’t stop moving his fingers. “ _You_ taught me that one, Barton.”

“Yeah, well, taught you a lot ‘a things.”

“You sure did,” Scott sits up and sets his free hand on Clint’s hip, rubbing it with his thumb. “You ready for another?”

Clint bucks his hips down onto Scott’s hand. “What do you think?”

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint.” Scott gently presses a third finger into Clint, kissing his knee. He takes his time taking Clint apart until he’s impatiently pressing Scott with his heel and moving his hips pointedly.

“Come on, Lang, I’m good to go,” Clint complains.

“It’s been like two minutes,” Scott counters.

“Yeah and I was ready a _full minute_ ago.”

“If you insist,” Scott removes his fingers, wiping them on the sheet and picking up the bottle of lube. “Condom?”

“Nah,” Clint shakes his head. “Unless you want to.”

“’M good.” Scott lubes up and tosses the near-empty bottle into the chaos of the room. Clint tosses his other leg over Scott’s shoulder and pulls him in, Scott scooting on his knees to comply. He lines up and presses in, slowly but surely.

“Oh my god,” Clint moans. “We should’a done this a long time ago.”

Scott bottoms out and pauses, lifting Clint’s hips a little and pressing forward for a better angle. Once Clint settles into the new position he taps Clint’s wrist, and he gets the memo, putting his hands above his head so Scott can hold them there.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Clint breathes. “Now move.”

“You never shut up, do you?”

Clint laughs. “You should know how to shut me up by now.”

Scott hums, dragging his hips back and slowly thrusting forward. “We can’t have sex every time you run your mouth off.”

“It’s worked so far—“ Clint cuts off with a moan as Scott picks up the pace.

They don’t speak much after that. The air is filled with moans and cut-off curses as Scott and Clint move their hips in time with each other, Scott using his free hand to wrap around Clint’s dick, giving him something to thrust into. Clint is, as always, the first to break the relative silence.

“Scott I’m gonna—“

“Yeah,” Scott picks up his pace and bends Clint further as he reaches up to kiss him. Clint moans into Scott’s mouth as he comes, and keeps kissing him until Scott’s coming less than a minute later.

They slow to a stop and Scott lets go of Clint’s wrists and sits up, pulling out. “Do you have anything to clean up with?”

Clint twists around to about where he had kept the lube and pulls out a small pack of wet wipes, waving them triumphantly. “Don’t even have to get out of bed.”

“Do you keep _all_ your sex-related products tucked under your mattress?”

Clint shrugs, handing the packet of wet wipes over. “Not the vibrators.”

Scott laughs and cleans them up, letting Clint roll over and get comfortable before he tosses the dirty wet wipes at a pile of what _looks_ like garbage and trying to settle in behind him before eventually sighing and clicking the button on his wrist. He shrinks down to his normal size and Clint rolls over, not-quite-pouting.

“Why’d you shrink? You could’ve been big spoon, emphasis on _big_.”

“Get a bigger bed and maybe next time we can.”

Clint sighs, flopping back down, and Scott settles in behind him. Clint really can’t complain when Scott’s arm is wrapped around his waist and he drifts off to the gentle rise and fall of Scott’s chest against his back.

 

But the next day he sends Stark an email about having a bigger bed put in his room.


End file.
